The Fall of Five
by Aloneinthelabyrinth
Summary: Ten of us came to earth, scattered for years. Three are dead, and the rest of us are gripping on to what we have left. Time has changed us. We are weak and easily defeated. Our enemies have strength in numbers and allies. And I am alone... I am Number Nine, one of the remaining seven. And I swear to the Loric Elders, that Lorien will be avenged.
1. Chapter 1 - Nine

**Disclaimer: Just checked my birth certificate, and I am not either of the two authors who contributed to the Lorien Legacies. Who knew? **

**Author's Note: After being a fan of the series for years, I finally decided to write a fanfic, after furiously wondering what would happen in the next instalment 'The Fall of Five' and I'm loosely based it on the given synopsis of that book (if you don't know what that is the internet's a handy place) **

**The Fall of Five**

**Chapter One**

_**Nine**_

Visions blur together. There's one of me and Sandor when I was about six, both of us laughing and eating ice cream, watching Maddie scream one last time, Johnny mentioning Sarah for the 68th time and then darkness as Setrákus Ra pinned me to the floor and then gradually everything began to clear and I hear unfamiliar voices.

I try to flex my hands, but something's binding them together and cutting into my skin. Trickling, a slither of blood travels from my wrist to a fingertip. Whatever that's holding my hands together is sharp, really sharp.

The voices quieten, and I know full attention's on me, so I decide to smirk; give the Mogs the show that they want. My facial muscles hurt, and I don't know whether it looks like I'm mocking them or that I'm having a spasm. Hoping for the first.

A clear light shines against my eyes, and I feel like I'm in a crappy detective drama. Obviously the Mogs need to watch better television, something with girls in bikinis. Despite the sheer brightness of the light, I open my eyes, squinting at first.

There are about seven figures, all the typical Mog build except from one who is beefy and resembles a hippo and another which almost fades into the background due to looking unimpressive. The dude needs to do some squats. I would insult them but my mouth is drier than the Sahara desert. But I'll remember it, definitely.

The only identical thing about all the Mogs is a smug smile. And why wouldn't they want to celebrate? They caught me, number Nine, and then there will only be six Loric left. Hallelujah. But one thing doesn't make sense, why am I still alive? I should be dead, a fourth pendant hanging around Setrákus Ra's scarred throat.

I have no idea where the others are, but as I scan the room it's a comforting thought that they're not in here with me, after my loss against Setrákus Ra, it seems they've managed to escape.

Between the Mogs, a language which I can barely understand is transferred between them and my stomach lurches. Even with my super hearing, I can't translate a language I don't know, but I remember the same language being used when I was trapped in the cells. And the clicking sounds they make with their tongues makes me want to rip them out.

A door, which I hadn't noticed before opens and an eighth person slides in, and she definitely contrasts with the stereotypical Mogadorian image. Unlike the others in the room, she looks impassive, as if I was just a piece of chewing gum on the street.

Striding towards me, I get a good look at her and I have to admit I enjoy the view. Long, wavy hair falls to the small of her back; in such a fair shade of blonde it looks almost silver. And with the combination of high cheek bones, and a feline body, she's beautiful. Shame about her being evil.

While staring directly at me she announces, "Ivan and Dekkan stay, the rest find something better to do."

Her tone is like ice, sharp and clear, determining that no one would defy her. Five Mogs nod and flee through the door being the aimless sheep they are, but not once do her eyes flicker from my face, and for a second I'm self-conscious if I have a spot. But then I have to remind myself that she's no good. Just like Maddie.

Two Mogs flock her; the hippo shaped one, the other lanky with glasses anxiously fidgeting with an electronic device, his fingertips drumming at an annoying rhythm.

"Any questions?" She asks, and this time it's directed at me. I have millions, some appropriate and some not, but I don't want to give her the satisfactory of that I'm curious and I have to rely on her for answers.

So I do what got me through the last time I was a prisoner of the Mogs, I growl. However, the Mogs usually ignored me and backed a few paces away – just in case, however she finds it amusing and ghost of a smile tracing her face.

The one with the device looks from me to her, "Should I note that down?"

"No," she replies curtly, her eyes burning right at me.

"How about I answer some simple questions," she begins, "You're in possession of the Mogadorians, however not in Dulce, in Phoenix, Arizona."

"I don't think it's a good idea to give away our situation," the beefy guy said.

"I don't think you're in the position to say what's a good idea after you let three weapon less people escape and almost kill you," her voice was like venom, and her attention changes from me to the big guy. "Be quiet before I regret choosing you Ivan. And plus, unlike your previous records of prisoners, I'm not going to let him escape."

Ivan unconsciously reaches towards his neck where there is such a horrific scar it makes bile rise up in my throat. This made Ra's one look like a paper cut. Perhaps it was the new Mogadorian fashion.

Ivan glares at her, rearranging the weapon in his hand which looks far more deadly than the typical Mogadorian cannon. But I guess I'm just a special case.

"You've be unconscious for eight hours, your friends have managed to escape which leaves you alone. And you're not dead yet, because you're more use to us alive."

"Not if I don't say anything," I spit out and Ivan loads his gun and points it at my face, and I'm proud I don't flinch.

"You will," she says. Not as a demand or a threat, but as a statement, "Voluntary or not."

I wanted to say something brave or something like "eat my pants" but her words unsettle me and all I could respond with was a cowardly nod, "What are you going to do?"

"With you? Or with my Sunday afternoon?" She says whilst walking closer to me.

"With me."

She's only a foot away.

"Like I said to you before – you're more use alive to us than dead. So nothing that would end your life. A special cell is being prepared for you, roomier than the one in Virginia. We'll assess you and the Garde's future plans, and there are a few scientists who are dying to experiment on you."

Ivan has a dangerous glint in his eyes and Dekkan turns a pale shade. I don't want to know what the experiment is, but without the charm I'm vulnerable to anything. I spent a year bulking up my figure trying to gain a look that would make Mogs cry out for their mothers. However brawn is nothing when it's trapped.

"Those are high goals," I say, confidence gaining in my voice.

"I'm a high achiever."

"Pass me his information," she tells Dekken who wordlessly passes his device to her. It looks like an invention Sandor would have made, and just the simple thought of him seems like a dagger is slowly pressing into my gut. Of course I don't let that show, can't let anything ruin my bravado.

"Number Nine," she says aloud, "It seems you have been very careless."

I leap at her, trying to find what it says about me, or about Sandor, or MaddIE but the cuffs dig into my skin and I yelp. Ivan laughs, while Dekkan looks straight at the girl, probably wondering if he should note that down.

"The cuffs are made of Lorium, found in the core of Lorien, sharpest and strongest metal ever known, and weakens legacies. I suggest you should stop moving before you saw your hand off."

"I don't care," I grunt, they can deal with my bloody hand on the floor.

"Yes you do," she says, her hands are on the arms of the chair her face only a few inches away from mine. Up close I can see dark circles underneath her eyes, she hasn't slept much, but her eyes have most attention, they were dark but not black, almost a purple colour.

I'm annoyed I can't strangle her, or any of them, or break that device. I'm stuck and helpless, no Cepan that could help and a broken charm. But in spite of that, I decide to whistle in her face.

"What are you doing?" Ivan says.

"He's whistling a Beatles tune," Dekkan says, "Blackbird; it's a classic song."

"I have more important things than to know the name of bands," Ivan growls.

"Both of you out." She says, Dekkan's eyes are wide and the guy looks terrified at what will happen, Ivan gives a murderous glance; first at me than her, and they both depart the room. I wonder if they'll get in trouble, I hope so. I want every Mog suffering and dead, but I want to be the cause of it..

"How would you get everyone dead then?" She asks softly and I wonder if I've been grumbling out loud.

"By killing them," I whisper.

"Very insightful." She leans away from the chair putting distance between us.

"It doesn't matter how, as long as they're dead. You'll be one of the first," I close my eyes as savage thoughts fill my brain.

"What about the phrase; best till last?"

"You're all the same, nothing, and you all deserved to die on Mogadore," I feel as if I've said too much, but an angry monster inside of me tries to escape, "And me killing you on earth is the second best thing."

She arches her eyebrows and smiles, "One of the commanders said you had a thing for pretty faces and he's right. You've told me more things than you've mentioned to the Mogs the past year when you were in intensive care."

"What makes you think you're so hot?" I mumble. I know I'm caught, it happened with Maddie and her nice ass, and now it's happening again with the enemy. I'm starting to think all good looking girls are associated with the Mogs.

The door opens, and both she and I snap our heads to the direction. A Mog walks in with a towering build and sharp facial features, and a mouth that seemed to permanently scowl. The girl nods, "General."

He ignores her and almost pretends she doesn't exist and the control she had in the situation before disappears. However she goes back into a trance of impassiveness and she turns toward me.

"Inject him; his new cell is ready," and then he turns away without another word. It seems like the General doesn't like her. Although he seems like the kind of jerk who doesn't respect the little guys, she doesn't seem like the typical little guy. But I don't specialise in the pyramid of Mogadorian power.

I could use their mutual disliking to my advantage. It wouldn't take much to make the Mogs corrupt, and power seems like the perfect trigger. I start formulating a plan in my head.

"That's a stupid idea," she murmurs as she opens a draw and pulls out a needle with a black liquid in, she inspects it and then mentions a name of a chemical I never heard of, although Sandor may know. But then again, he's dead.

"I didn't say anything," I say, slightly conscious if I've gone insane and started talking about my plans aloud. I'm positive I didn't, although a day ago with Johnny I was sure I could beat Setrákus Ra, in a one to one battle.

"No you didn't," she turns towards me smirking, her purples eyes almost darkening if she had a private joke to herself.

I'm not going insane. I'm not. I am still number Nine and I will kill Setrákus Ra, even if it kills me.

She saunters closer to where I sit, and while the needle is probing my arm she whispers into my ear, "But that doesn't mean I didn't hear anything."

I could vaguely feel the needle being injected into my arm as I wonder what the hell she is on about. Before I come to a conclusion, I am overwhelmed with a cloud of darkness.

**Voila! First chapter is completes. There may be some slight spelling differences, I'm British and I spell colour instead of color etc.**

**Also I've started at a different, less likely angle but it seems fun imaging it in my head! Please review, I'd love to know what you think, and what you'd like to happen in the next book**


	2. Chapter 2 - Seven

**Chapter Two**

_**Marina**_

Mexico City is buzzing with noise and colour, people's rosy cheeks glowing like fireflies and I'm amazed by the beautiful chaos of it while looking through the apartment window. I wish the life would be as vibrant in here.

The small dingy apartment is cramped and smells like a mixture of mould and sour milk – but it was the best we could do, and is a lot more preferable than the streets and the convent. And everyone in here is silent or asleep, with such a large number of us, we all fear getting caught. And after the last battle, the chances of us winning are too low to risk.

However we won't be staying here for long. Nine suggested that we train in Chicago and John agreed – in spite of the two arguing over everything else. We're only here to throw the Mogadorians off our tails, give them a false trail and then we'd go to Nine's place.

There are eleven of us; Four, Six, Me, Eight, Nine, Ella, Sarah, Bernie Kosar and three unexpected guests; Sam a friend of John's from his old school, his father Malcolm, and Adamus, where there are several mixed views.

Nine and Six wanted to kill him; Nine was more forceful than six, saying if he betrayed one race why wouldn't he do it again, and due to Six's bad past with Mogs she wasn't keen on letting him live. The rest of us decided to give him a chance, we didn't know him but Malcolm's versions of events made us respect him, well most of us.

But he's alive on the couch snoring, he passed out from exhaustion. John and I could heal the broken bones but it's impossible to heal a mind that needs to be rested. Adamus can do that by himself.

I feel slightly nervous when he's around, although recently that's all I feel – impossibly nervous. I glance at six to my right who's curled up in a ball and I want to be strong like her; physically and mentally, but instead I'm nervous, weak, Marina.

Coughing, John puts his hand to his chest, he inhaled slightly too much smoke after our escape, but he insisted he was fine, and he can always heal himself if it comes to the worst. That didn't stop Sarah worrying.

She's next to him, her arms wrapped around his waist, her blonde hair a halo of gold. She breathes lightly and I'm surprised John's whooping coughing did not wake her up, but she seems steadily in sleep.

Although Six suggests she may not be blonde for longer – her pretty appearance is easily recognisable. Along with Nine's long hair and Eight's curls, and before we leaving the majority of us will be getting a haircut. It's a shame; I like Eight's curls.

There's four of us awake: me, John, Malcolm and Ella. Malcolm is flicking through a laptop which we managed to buy since Ella's letter contained Crayton's credit card. The poor dove is terrified to open it, but after she felt the credit card, she quickly removed it, and returned to a quiet state, screwing up her face and attempting telekinesis which has failed several times now.

As soon as we found somewhere to stay, Eight encouraged Ella to message Five. She couldn't, she blames herself. We suggested that maybe her telepathy was limited at far distances but that didn't satisfy her, Eight also said that maybe since she didn't know Five and that's why it didn't work, but Ella didn't believe that either.

After Six mentioned Five blocking telepathy, it killed the conversation.

I look at Ella and mouth, "Five."

Her wide set brown eyes gaze at me as she slowly shakes her head and then I hear her voice in my head:_ I'm going to bed now, I'll see you later_.

I wave at Ella. This is too much for a twelve year old or even someone my age. But we can't choose our fates, the best we can do is handle them.

To my right I hear a shuffle and Six has woken up. Her blonde hair is dishevelled and in noticeably shorter since she cut some off a few hours ago. She looks at me closely, "Marina when was the last time you slept?"

I shrug my shoulders, not because I didn't care but I forgot the last time I slept, I was too busy with the dramatic change of my life, not being in a Convent and finally being free to notice my own body rebelling against me. The adrenalin was more powerful than coffee.

"You should go to sleep," Six whispers, "Have that beauty sleep for Eight."

I roll my eyes; I had barely spoken to Eight since we escaped Dulce. What do I say? I kissed you because I thought you were going to die? That was conversation killer.

I don't regret kissing him. But I blush the colour of a tomato whenever I think about it. I am not spontaneous, I am safe and predictable. I am not Gabby Garcia, I don't change out of the convent clothes to impress boys. But Eight isn't like the other boys.

In spite of my conflicting emotions towards Eight, I squeeze my eyes shut, murmuring a good night and god bless to whoever was listening.

My dreams are haunted by the same images as they were in Spain; Six lying dead.

She's on a battle field, her hair raven black again. Her face is smeared with blood, a ghost of a smile lying on her lips, while she lies like Medusa's victims. I remember the myth, of how the monster froze heroes with mere eye contact. But that's only and old story. This is real, very real.

I rush to wake her, tears streaming down my cheeks and I can taste the saltiness in my mouth. I place my hands on her sides, praying to whatever god, Loric or human that would save my best friend. I do my best to summon the cold feeling in my hands, to see Six twirling and joking around with Eight one more time, or ferociously working up a storm.

However I know all my efforts are futile. She's definitely dead.

I look around the barren landscape, blanketed with sand. However on further inspection the sand is Mog dust, Six went down bringing thousands of Mogs with her. Even in my dreams she's thousands more heroic than I could ever wish to be.

The image changes and instead of the nightmare of Six's corpse I am presented with a young boy with toffee coloured skin and huge green eyes. Eight, I think instantly. Just by the way he's runs, his hands out to the side as if he's taking off like a majestic bird is noticeable even if he is about eight years ago. Part of me wishes to run along aside him, be daring, be reckless although I stand still.

Another figure emerges, his skin the colour of ink wearing thick glasses. He has wrinkles at his eyes when someone smiles too much. Reynolds. This must have been before they met Lola as Reynolds was staring at Eight if he was the most important person in the world. Like when a father stares at a son.

I finally understand Eight's description of him – always laughing and a bright character. He had that eternal youthfulness that you only see in children, except it was in a middle-aged man. Reynolds was probably shorter thank me however beneath his sweater it was obvious there was muscles.

The scene is happy and sad at the same time. Happy in the present – a man and a child who clearly seems to be his son, and sad in past tense – Reynolds is dead and Eight isn't that nine year old anymore.

And once again I am shown another vision and somehow and I'm not sure if it's a new legacy or not but I know its present. I am in a dark and dingy room, which stinks of alcohol and cigarettes and I feel as if the smell is strangling me.

Could this be where Setrákus Ra talked to Eight in his dreams? Surely though Eight would have mentioned the size of the room or the smell or that the floor is a sea of liquor bottles and empty cigarette packets?

However when a man walks in, he is no Setrákus Ra. For starters he has no scar around his neck only stubble. He looks well dishevelled; the man hasn't shaved or washed his hair in a few days, dirt cakes his face and also something that looks suspiciously like blood, and his red rimmed eyes had dark shadows beneath them, and his clothes are ruffled and stained. Plus he adds heavily to the awful smell in the room.

Even with the shabby appearance he still looks somewhat comely with a straight nose, a strong jaw, black hair and dark eyes but it definitely seems that his appearance isn't high up on his agenda.

He picks up papers and desperately searches through them and on closer inspection the papers are news articles on strange sightings. Similar to the ones which I had been looking for on a computer in Spain, some words are highlighted and annotated in a language I can't read, but some of those words are underlined.

And then it hits me like a bullet – he's looking for the Garde. He doesn't seem like a major science fanatic, nothing seems to prove it, and on one of the walls next to a huge crack swarming with cockroaches and flies lays a map, and one specific place circled on it is a town in Brazil.

I vaguely remember a conversation between John and Nine how Five was recently in Brazil however quickly left. Is this a man who is hunting Five?

Poor Five is alone, or possibly with their Cepan, but whoever Five is, they are hopelessly outnumbered if faced with an army of Mogs, or humans. And there is strength in numbers. Part of me is scared if Five will fall alone, and have no one to help them, like numbers One, Two and Three and will just be a symbol on the surviving Garde's leg.

I will not let that happen.

I try to steal the papers the man was looking at, temporarily forgetting it's a dream however my hands slides through the papers effortlessly, like it was a simple illusion. Dreams are illusions.

However the man backs away and pulls a gun from his jeans, "Who's there?" he yells.

Part of me wants to pull something Eight or Six would do, say something funny like "the ghost from your past."

But I'm not funny. I'm Marina.

Although he seems to calm down, his shoulders slack and continue to observe the map, there are little red dots in other places. And my heart freezes as I find on right where Adelina and I used to live. He told the Mogs where we were.

I also see dots in Ohio, where John used to live and a question mark in Chicago, where Nine currently has an apartment. There's also a dot in New York, and Six trusted me here story of her in the Mog's cells, and she was caught in New York.

I flicked my eyes to the East of the map and find a dot in India too. Whoever this man is, he's a danger to all the Garde and the most secure way to get rid of a danger is to kill it. Even if the thought of killing makes my insides squirm.

Before I can achieve that my name is whispered but not by the man. Someone in reality – Eight, Six or whoever – is waking me up. But I don't want to; it's vital that I need to know more, to find out who this man really is.

The voices say my name louder and panic echoes through my dream, and clear bright light fills my vision instead of the awful room and I can smell nothing peculiar now.

Searching my face, Eight is above me. A thin layer of sweat coating his forehead, his dark curls slightly damp, he shakes me, "Marina, we need to go now. The Mogs are here."

**Author's note: Two chapters down, and who knows how many more to go! Another Lost Files out tomorrow and I'm praying it doesn't destroy what I've planned out, but I've made space for change.**

**Oh, and this chapter is set a few hours after Dulce, thus explaining why they are with Sam, Malcolm and Adamus.**

**Let me know what you think!**


	3. Chapter 3 - Nine

**Chapter three**

_**Nine**_

Unfortunately, the new cell isn't Ritz standard or the penthouse in the John Hancock centre, and it'd be a stretch to give it one star, but I'm relieved that I have a bed. A wonderfully warm bed that doesn't feel like it's been constructed of nails. But I'm wary of the hospitality that the Mogs are showing me, it can only lead to something bad.

In my cell there's a toilet and sink and I'm going to have three meals a day, which to my surprise, is not a mixture of gruel and protein, but decent food like steak. I should probably check if it's poisoned or whatever, but a guy's got to eat.

And now that's the charms gone, I always tense. Waiting for the moment to pounce when the doors are opened, expecting there to be an explosion any second. My heart thunders for some adrenaline, but I'm still stuck in this one cell. And the others… I have no idea where they are, but facing the Mogs is going to be more difficult without me kicking their asses.

And I feel guilty that they're alone, but now all I can do is wait.

There's no way in hell I can break out of here. The force field is stronger than I can remember, buzzing with energy and flickers of purple light. I always had an intense hatred the colour purple. It's fate.

"Good morning Nine," her voice purrs from outside the cell. One of the many strange things about the cell is that there appears to be no doors – only a little slot where food is passed through.

And yet another strange, but expected thing in the cell; there's a secret door! Damn, the Mogs need to sort out their clichés, hot girls in bikinis hand feeding me steak really wouldn't hurt. Note to self; suggest that.

I imagine her in a bikini feeding me steak and I have to admit, it's probably one of the best thoughts of the day.

She saunters in, with Ivan trundling behind her and from the looks of it they just had an argument; Ivan's neck is raw red, and despite her emotionless face, she still looks as if she's going to slap someone, most likely Ivan. Dekkan isn't here – I guess the lanky guy got cut off. Tough luck for him.

The girl's hair is tied up and I can finally see the nape of her neck. It's pale and looks vulnerable in the way a porcelain doll is. I bet I could snap it in two seconds.

"We're going to blindfold you and take you to one of the investigation rooms. If you cooperate, you won't be hurt," Ivan drones like he's rehearsed it millions of times, and then he smiles cruelly, "Well, barely."

She's crossing her arms, fingers drumming and she barely glances at me, her lips are pursed and she's probably a million miles away. I'll need her distracted if I'm going to make my breakthrough. I'll leap at Ivan first – although he exceeds my height, I know I can beat him if it came man to man, and I'll have the edge of surprise.

Of course the Mog cannon is something to take into consideration. It's like him; big, mean and god damn ugly. I'll have to remove that first. It will just be embarrassing if I get stunned in the first five seconds.

She, on the other hand, will be less of a threat physical. Also, she already seems thrown off guard. Although she's built catlike there's still a sense of her being powerful, but if it did turn into a wrestling match, I'd win hands down.

Subsequently, I'll kick some Mog ass and escape this damn place and chill with my fellow Gardes until the next battle. Simple, plan complete.

Ivan stares at me, his nose wrinkled as if I'm a piece of shit, he holds out a blindfold, "Well?"

First thoughts of someone producing a blindfold are always sexual, so I bit my lip to suppress my laughter and I can taste blood. I can't imagine the guy going down in Mog history as the greatest romantic wooer.

This is the time I've been waiting for; he's too annoyed that I took too long to answer to think sensibly.

I lunge with all my strength at him; and that's a whole lot of strength. Like I suspected, I caught him completely unaware and I probably couldn't have chosen a better window. His gaze widens as I heave him on to the floor.

My hand goes straight to the Mog cannon at his side like planned. It only takes one punch to crunch it, I'm slightly astonished at my own strength. But I'll marvel at my own force later, right now I need to escape.

Ivan starts to twitch his muscles having a war against mine. I'm tempted to rip off his head, but that would cause a slight delay if done properly. I'll have to deal with just making sure he's immobile. Alas, the milliseconds I've spent debating what to do with him, he turns me over and pins me to the ground.

Shit, I've underestimated his own strength. Nice one Nine.

With hippo boy looming on top of me, I get a better look at his scar. Whatever it is, that thing is not natural. It looks too severe, as if someone's just ripped his head off, realized that was a mistake and sowed in back on. If I had a say in that, Ivan's head being separated from his body would be a preferable thing.

He knees me in the groin and I yell something unintelligible. The burn is sharp and painful, and if I probably wasn't against time I'd spent an hour or two recovering on the floor. But now's no time to pray for my poor groin. But the son of a bitch will pay.

I attempt to dominate him, my ankles rap around his knees, allowing me to rollover, straddling Mr Hippo. I can almost smell the sweet scent of victory. I punch him twice, the first one breaks his nose with an audible crunch causing blood to splutter – that one was just to make him feel pain. The second punch flies at his temple, stopping big old Ivan struggling, his eyes roll to the back of his head, and he's out.

I rotate to the Mog cannon and throw it in the camera in the left corner, I noticed it earlier while playing 'Find the spy camera's before I pee because I don't want anyone staring at my junk'. And both times my aim is successful, the camera's fizzing before it gives a minor explosion. Of course if anyone was paying any attention, they would have seen the fight and alarmed everyone. But for now, the coast is clear and very quiet.

One to Number Nine.

"Having fun there, are we?" She asks, her voice is velvety soft. I stumble backwards, I completely forgot about her. She was utterly silent whilst sulking in the shadows when I was teaching Ivan a lesson.

Here lies the question; fight or flight? I could escape and probably make it out, even if she lets out a warning as soon as I bolt out of the door. And it'd be fun, I like a challenge. Or I could battle her, the odds of me escaping out alive is even less than before, but destroying her beautiful face would be a big benefit.

I'm going for the latter as I remember her smirk as she mentions Maddy and Sandor, as if she knew everything about them, knew everything I had been through in the Mog cell in Virginia. As if she knew all the damn suffering, but she didn't even care. And as much as I hate myself for it, I hater her too.

I flex my muscles.

"I'm about to have a lot more, in a second?" I grin. I haven't felt this free since the last time I escaped a Mog prison, and this time I'm going to try and double the Mog casualties. Since little Johnny boy held me back last time.

"Sadly, I don't think it will be your definition of fun," she sighs.

I feint to my left throwing a fake punch, hoping she'd dodged it and leap to the right where I'd deliver my final blow into that delicate jaw, watching it shatter into thousands irreparable fragments.

Except that doesn't go to plan. She slithers to the right with raised eyebrows and almost fighting a smile against my dismay. Damn, I didn't expect her to be that quick, her thighs are too slender to have real power like sprinters do.

"Are you insulting my legs?" she inquires. And I'm 100% sure like previous times that I didn't say it aloud, and I remember the last words she said the preceding time we met; "But that doesn't mean I didn't hear anything."

She looks at me expectantly and alarm bells shrill. They've realised the cameras have been damaged, and they may have potentially two people down. I have to act quickly or I'll be stuck here, and I'll never find the others before I die. And the dream of Lorien will just be a distant memory. I refuse to play her little mind games.

This time I don't bother faking anything, just a full on tackle. I step backwards, and put all in my power into this one jump. Before my hands can reach her dainty throat I'm pinned to the floor with pain flaming through my veins, and Sandor all bloody and me killing him as if he were a pig at a slaughter house and thoughts of Maddy screaming for help, screaming my name for help, torture my mind.

I cry out loud. It's all too much.

I can't remember the last time I cried properly. Sandor explained to me that the heroes never cried, they knew life was tough but they just accepted it. Fate is a very difficult thing to change, going with the flow is natural. But if Sandor ever experienced this, he'd probably shut up about crying.

Abruptly, everything clears rapidly. My chest feels lighter and my mind seems clearer than glass, and I feel strangely empty, all my emotions have seemed to go for a walk in a park or something. And it feels so damn good to feel nothing.

I steadily get to my feet, fighting the overwhelming to sink back to me knees and throw up as my stomach churns violently. Whatever that just was, I want to prove a point, I am infinitely stronger than my past and I will not let it destroy me. The future is full of hope even if everything before that was clouded with despair.

I observe her and she returns a wild-eyed gaze, her face is pale and if I knew any better I'd say she's frightened. But I didn't do anything terrifying, I just experienced something terrifying.

The alarm bells alleviate as a group of Mogs parade in with Mog cannons each one aimed at me. There's probably more than twenty, and I couldn't even delude myself that I could beat them especially not at this state.

She clears her throat, two coughs, "As much as I appreciate all of you finally turning up, I've got everything under control, not as if you've been paying much attention," her eyes narrow at Ivan, "Can someone remove that big oaf before his blood stains the new cell."

Each of the Mogs looked to one another. They seemed in the typical Mog like build unlike the girl and Ivan – no pupils and eyes a hideous black, and circles which make them look as if they've spent all night watching episodes of Batman (Sandor's done that enough), along with a skin that looks as if they've spent all night in the fight. And the clear resemblance of a shark.

They look at each other slightly confused on what's going on, but a second look at her face was all they need. They sneer at me before I leave; the Loric kid has been reduced to nothing by a little girl the same age as him.

One by one the file out, five of them carrying the great weight which is Ivan until her and I are alone. And there's an uncomfortable silence, until I break it.

"You're a monster."

She tries to smirk triumphantly but it turns into a sad smile as she says, "I know."

I have no time for sad smiles or any sympathy especially when I need to know stuff, "What did you even do? How many damn Mogs can do that?"

She looks at me solemnly, hesitates for a moment and replies, "No Mogs can do that." She stiffens, "Due to your unexpected tantrum, what is planned is most likely ruined. I thank you for your respectful and obliging behaviour."

She turns on her heel and saunters out of the room, the secret door shutting as I stare after her, wondering why I asked the questions and then trying to make out her reply. And I'm completely lost and confused.

I stagger towards my head, tiredness finally taking its toll. My eyelids droop and my brain starts to turn to mush and I roll to my side forgetting today's events, and everything before that. Wishing that I was just a normal teenager.

Screw Lorien.


	4. Chapter 1 - Four, Six

_**Four**_

They surround us without notice. I feel incredibly stupid; I let all of us down. I was with Sarah when they attacked, my left hand touching the small of her back my lips gliding across her forehead, my right hand twirled in her golden hair. And everything was perfect for that second, I had someone to curl up to when I was fed up, someone to love.

All the stars aligned; I am Sarah's and she is mine.

Of course that's when the Mogs let loose. I wasn't allowed just to be at peace with my Sarah. In a war there may be distance between battles, but that's never an excuse to let guard down, which I stupidly.

I was the one to be on watch, and I did as good as a job as a blind man. As Nine would have put, and he probably will later 'Nice one Johnny boy'.

Mogs pour into the apartment, banging down the cheap door storming in like a crusade. No doubt that there will be more outside, waiting to charge if the first line failed. Which they will. Although they caught me unaware, I'm lucky I was in the position to shield Sarah.

"Run," I yell at her. I can't bear to see Sarah hurt again, the image at Dulce still aches slightly and there's always the fear of if I couldn't heal her, and I'm the alien boyfriend who dragged her into this mess, and I'm determined to make sure she's gets out without a scratch.

Sarah holds my chest, her calm blue eyes showing a flicker of fear but more determination, "John, I'll take your chest. You go do me and Henri proud."

That's my girl.

Ella gazes at Sarah, and makes a 'follow me' gesture, briefly knowing the little girl and Marina's explanation about her, she seems to be quick and has a good eye for escape routes, and although Six and Nine can easily wipe out more Mogs than Ella could possibly try, I know Sarah's in safe hands, and they will both live to another battle.

At the corner of my eye, I can see Eight shaking Marina begging her to wake, murmuring something to her and the both of them teleporting by my side. Nine is nowhere to be seen and Six is on top of the roof, creating a storm that would make hurricanes look like a gust of wind. By the sound of it, BK is out there with her in another monstrous form.

The pale army stares at me, and I look back defiantly. There's a few dozen there, each face not caring that they have the motive to kill children that haven't done anything particularly wrong. Each face has eyes that gleam of the thought of murder,

I grit my teeth and I set myself aflame.

The fire is more powerful that coffee. It wakes me up, despite the little sleep I've had, I feel as if I could tackle Setrákus Ra right now. I feel young, free, reckless and awake.

The Mogadorians shoot their cannons, bright colours skyrocketing towards Eight, Marina and me. One hits me square in the chest and I thud into a sofa, setting it alight as I do. Eight grabs Marina's hand, and both of them teleport behind the Mogs, targeting them from behind.

Dust rockets off from the sofa, suffocating me. Next time we check into a hotel, we make sure the furniture isn't a century old.

A Mog is several feet away from me, hesitantly moving towards the flames. Even though the Mogs are stupid – they still know that getting burned alive isn't a great way to die. He's unarmed, Eight or Marina must have removed his cannon. But none of this removes the hungry gleam from his eye.

I wonder what the prize is for slaying a garde. Eternal victory? A feast? Promotion? Whatever it is, the Mogs slowly ascending towards me isn't going to get it.

I lazily flick my hand and he goes hurtling out of the apartment window, flames coating him as doing so, and whenever he hits the ground, I feel fully confident he will end up in a pile of Mogadorian ash.

The more Mogadorians I kill, the more they seem like rag dolls; lifeless and easy to kill.

The pain of the cannon aches and getting up is difficult, and I hoist myself upwards using the flaming sofa. However to ensure Sarah's safety, I have to make sure no Mogs can ever endanger her. As I get up, I'm still blazing my red bracelet glows in the heat, and I'm not 100% sure it is heat resistant, but a guy has got to battle.

I leap at the Mogs, not bothering to get a sharp weapon. Fire is one of the most powerful weapons. Just by hitting a Mog, I managed to set one ablaze at the nape of his neck, another turned to ash instantly when I punched him in the stomach.

There is a thrill in fighting. Nine's known that for a while, and now I'm finally feeling it, the inside of body also feels if it's in flames, it's warm, energetic and powerful. Maybe it's the power of all of us Loric in the same place, our Legacies developing and our friendships, making us stronger Gardes each day. Or maybe I'm just accepting killing not as barbaric as it once was, and that revenge feels awfully good.

Either way, the Mogs here today don't have a change.

A Mog aims his gun at me, and for a second I pause and put my hands up, and that's when I charge. I tackle him and pin him to the ground, he screams and his shark like teeth attempt to bite my neck, but before he can even come close, he burst into a pile of dust.

Eight and Marina are making swift work of the other Mogadorians. Eight's in his newest form, a larger than most tiger, bearing his teeth and swiping Mogadorians viciously, and Marina has two knives in her hand, something I presume she's gotten from her chest. She looks nervous with them, eyes flickering and her chin slightly trembling, yet she manages to strike one in the neck managing to turn them into dust, and a faint smile appearing afterwards.

She looks up at me and her face is a mask of horror, she manages to scream the words, "John" before I am impaled on the floor.

At least several bones in the left side of my body are shattered and I think for a second that death is less painful than this. My flames fade as I turn up to see the brutal face of a Kraul on top of me – its teeth snapping and its breath has the ominous stench of death.

I close my eyes. I have failed the other Garde. I have failed the Elders. I have failed Lorien.

However I don't get eaten alive by a beast surprisingly. The Kraul is millimetres away from my face but shudders last moment, and turns into an impressive pile of ash. I look to my saviour, my skinny Mogadorian traitor saviour.

Adamus smiles sheepishly at me, no weapon in hand. I wonder how the hell he did it. Mogadorians are only dangerous when armed with their weapons, and then I faintly remember something Malcolm told me about how he believes Adamus has moulded with One. Either way I'm grateful.

It's silent in here – all the battles ceased and a blanket of ash coats the room.

Eight looks around, "We need to get outside and help, now.

_**Six**_

I am one with the storm. We merge together into something horrific and powerful. Despite conjuring it makes my eyes droop and each limb feel heavier, I am stronger than ever before.

Me and Bernie Kosar, destroy the Mogs. Maybe it's the fact that we lost the last battle so easily makes both of us more aggressive, taking more risks, showing no mercy. If we let the number of battles lost increase, we will lose the war.

Sam and his dad, Malcolm are fighting alongside us. Sam still has the slightly naïve energy he had back with me and John, his moves looking well practiced – he probably had some spare time in the prison cell. Although Malcolm seems inexperienced in physical combat, the man knows how to fire a Mog weapon fairly well. He's stunned about half a dozen Mogs.

Sam grins at me, and I haven't realised how much I've missed the crooked grin, I smile back, but it looks more like a grimace as I pay my attention to the Mogs.

I step backwards, and using my hind leg I front kick a Mog in the throat, honing the practiced move that Katrina taught me many years ago. It's placed perfectly as the Mog turns into ash.

Another Mog grabs me from behind, a knife at my throat. His hands are cold and cause bile to rise up my throat. I bite my bottom lip hard, trying to keep it in and I taste the salty metallic tang of my blood. Having only milliseconds to compose myself before I end up with a slit throat, ending the dream of Lorien, I head butt backwards, throwing the Mog off balance. This makes the Mog stagger a few steps backwards, dropping his sword as I swiftly pick it up.

I form an arc with it, ending at the Mogadorians throat.

In the distance of the Mexican streets, in midday, the place is crowded and many are looking with their faces gaping and eyes wide. This is probably the worst battle field, there are too many observers – they get in the way, and could be killed. And a crowd adds media attention.

I don't want to add to all the casualties that happened on Lorien.

I have to concentrate on the battle, not bystanders.

Although the number of Mogs and beasts outside are whittling down, courtesy of BK and me, a black van drives suspiciously close to the building I'm standing on top of. By pure instinct, I focus my telekinesis on throwing the van upwards, only to slam it down.

It makes a very satisfying explosion,

BK who has finished demolishing the last Kraul limps to my side, he seems in fairly good shape, except from his left paw, which seems in an unnatural angle. He can last the fight though, I know it. Sam and Malcolm regroup towards us, Malcolm seems out of breath and I guess this isn't part of his daily routine, while Sam's right eye is red and he squints. Marina will have to fix that.

With Sam finally close to me I can see how much he's grown over the time we've been separated. Somehow in the short space of time, he's managed to gain a few inches, making him finally taller than me. Although he's still as lanky as ever.

Malcolm is a heavily built tall guy, roughly the same size as John. It may seem that Sam will finally fill his aspirations of looking like his father.

The four of us stand side by side, ready to face the last dozen, all of hearts thundering in our chests, our muscles aching and our senses buzzing.

The storm which I created overhead has almost completely faded, the dense grey clouds are now white and sparse, the Sun pierces through the veil I have created, light shining on us four, as if it was a blessing.

Although blessings don't make me feel weak. My arms begin to shake, and the amount of energy I've used is finally taking its toll and my body is ferociously protesting my will to fight.

My knees buckle, and crashing them on the concrete roof doesn't send a jolt through my body. Only a numbing pain, I can distinctly hear Sam's worried voice, and out of the corner of my eye, see BK launch his broken body at the Mogs to protect me.

My breathing turns shallow, my eyelids flutter and everything goes black.

**Sorry for the slight delay in posting the chapter. However does a battle scene make up for it? Please review – I'd love to hear your theories and what you want to happen.**

**And yes, the Nine which the rest of the Garde – Four, Six et cetera think they're with isn't the real Nine.**


	5. Chapter 5 - Nine

_**Nine**_

I wake up in a strange room, which seems to be the norm for me at the moment – I get blacked out and the Mogs put me in the other room – at least I'm not dead though. However, the fact that I'm not dead is still a damn mystery to me.

The room is plain, no windows and no doors, and a dull grey which makes me want to rip my eyes out. The only thing decorating the room is my chair, a table, and a chair opposite me. Not even a pot of flowers to lighten the mood.

I hear movement behind me. I try to turn my torso, to look at the approaching footstep, but as my body's bound to the rock hard chair, and the forthcoming figure is in my blind spot, it remains a mystery.

I rule out the girl immediately – she is too light-footed, and Ivan as well, despite his thunderous steps, I doubt he'll have any orders seeing me soon. The steps were powerful; it belonged to someone full of purpose and confidence.

"I am General Andrakkus Sutekh," he announces

He made his way to the chair opposite me, taking a leisurely pace. He's making certain that he's the one in control, he does what he pleases. However, I've never really been good at taking hints.

"I would say lovely weather we're having but I don't have a window, so I wouldn't know, in fact I have no freaking clue whether it's day or night. And I don't want to lie to someone in such a high position as you," I say dryly while putting my feet on the table.

The General ignores me, finally sitting down in the chair, his posture rigid, "I have no time for you not cooperating. We know exactly where your friends are – the other Garde, and to avoid them having a fate like your little girlfriend – you will answer accordingly.

That stung like some had poured salt over a fresh wound. Maddy and her nice ass, and her pretty smile, and the way she screamed for help as she was about to die. And now good old General goes and brings it up.

I swallow, "How do I know you're not lying?"

He look regal as he turned his face to the side, all angles with sharp cheekbones, sharp nose and a sharp jaw, "Would you like to find out the hard way?"

I grimace, as a threat of a smile tugs at his lips.

"No, I thought not," the General states.

"What do you want from me?" I say, wincing at the cliché of it. I could have said anything, even a line from Batman, and it would have sounded better than that. Better than an ignorant, bratty girl.

"How many Garde are there?" He asks.

"Nine, but you killed three of us," I lie for little Ella's sake – if they think she's just a little human tagging along for the ride, maybe they'll forget about the little kid I only knew for a few minutes, giving her the advantaged.

The table pressed against my abdominals as the General repeats "How many Garde are there?"

I search into his ink black eyes, not sure what I'm looking for, "You already know the answer, so why ask me?"

"To see if you wish for your friends to remain alive," the General asserts.

And for once, I don't see Mogadorians for mindless creatures following a powerful leader. I see the General as someone who is intelligent acting on his own accord, he believes Setrákus Ra, and is not brain washed by him. Someone who could challenge us physically and mentally and he wants to make me feel smaller.

Compared to his seven foot frame, I am small. Even sitting down, if I looked directly at him, I would be staring at his dry crackly lips and his pointed to chin. My shoulders hunch slightly as I look down at the floor.

"The Mogadorians in Virginia assured me you weren't the submissive type," his lips widen showing sharp teeth, "Perhaps they were wrong."

I stare defiantly at him, gathering saliva in my mouth, and spitting at him right in the eye. He looks complacently at me as he gently wipes the spit away from his face, "Do that again and you're friends are dead, as are you since your purpose is over."

"And would you care to form me in what my purpose is," I ask cynically, ignoring the desperate urge to know.

"To stay alive," the General smiles, a cruel sardonic one.

I grind my teeth and close my eyes, think of the others – Johnny boy and his lost and confused face when flirting with girls and how his face lit up at the thought of Sarah, little Ella with big eyes, shy tall Marina who looked at Eight if there was a bond binding them and Eight who reserved a special smile for Marina. Even if I only knew some of them for a few minutes, before I disappeared from the battle field completely, before awaking in this Mog prison. And I think how I want them to live a little longer, to maybe figure things out, even if that kills me.

And I think about how I almost gave up the Loric dream, last night or whenever. When I felt so lost, alone and belittled, with an emptiness gnawing at my stomach and a grenade in my brain. That time when I lost the will to live, and was so fractionally close to yell at the Mogadorians to end my life. But then I held it in and hoped it would get better.

Unfortunately, life has failed to become better.

"Anything else you want," I finally say after minutes of silence, taking my feet off the table tucking them behind my knees.

"Do you know where your ship is?" the General asks. He knows the answer to this question.

"Dulce," I say dully and the General nods. Although faintly I remember being alongside John and seeing another ship in the tablet, but I don't mention that, which gives me strange hope that they don't know about that ship either.

"General," a female voice emerges, it's her voice, instead of her usual melodic tone, it was slightly dull, "I have done what has been commanded."

The General doesn't even bother to look at her, "Come here, I need to check if he's lying."

She walks into my view, and instead of the black fitted suit that she usually wears, she is dressed up like a normal teenager; skinny jeans, high heeled boots, a tight top, and a leather jacket. She was similarly dressed to the girls that came in the Penthouse with Sandor for a one night stand.

I had questions about why she was dressed like that and where had she been, but the questions are put off by the curve of her ass and how low cut her top is, and that if she wasn't with the Mogadorians, things would be _very _different.

"How was Colorado?"

She doesn't acknowledge me and leans against the table next to the General, she raises her eyebrows questioningly at him, and he responds with a cool ice stare. She shrugs her shoulders and looks forwards, still avoiding me, "Great. Get on with it."

The General scowls, his attention turns to me, "Where is your next destination?"

I shrug my shoulders, "I don't know, we never planned it."

The General looks at her with a mixture of annoyance and curiosity and for the first time she looks at me in certain disbelief, "He's not lying. They actually have no idea."

The General clasps his hands together, and this is the softest I have ever seen him look and he still looks like he's ready to destroy a little kid's dream or perhaps eat a little puppy for breakfast. Or heck, maybe even both.

I curse myself silently – I could have refused to talk, or maybe suggest about going back to Ohio, it seems logical – there's plenty there we need to search, like Sam's house – Johnny's little friend, who may be dead or alive. But I made the Loric look stupid and unprepared, we could have used fear of surprise as a weapon, but we haven't thought that through.

"What legacies do you have – and what the others are known to have?" the General asks.

_Shit._ If I don't answer the question truthfully – everyone's dead, and if I do – everyone's dead. I frantically look for an excuse of not answering; I suppose they wouldn't let me go to the bathroom, and both eyes are staring at me.

I try not to think of the others, just repeating 'I am Nine and I will return to Lorien' in my head, relaxing and rearranging my thoughts.

"Uh," I stutter, the General smiles cruelly his teeth similar to his face – all sharp angles and a lust for bloodshed, and he impatiently taps his fingers on the table.

Her face is unreadable; an expression so blank, I wonder if time's paused. However, the strumming of fingers on the table is the only thing that ensures me time is moving. She just has an eerily way of being absolutely still.

"Well… I have anti-gravity, telekinesis, and I can hear pretty good..."

"The correct grammar is well. Or do you lack intelligence as well as battle tactics," she corrects.

I continue after the rude interruption, "I can hear well…"

She interrupts once again, "General, this is pointless."

I've never seen her so restless, she usually takes things with a calm, knowing attitude, aside from making several snide comments, she's usually rude, but never in an open matter. Man, someone put something in her juice this morning. I bet it was Ivan.

It seems clear that the General isn't used to this behaviour. Although the General probably isn't usually spoken to like that, he's the person who demands respect just by his stance. His eyes watch her carefully, "I should warn you..."

"Threats are pointless. Just like asking something we already know – like his legacies. Why waste time asking what is already known? It won't make us progress. Ra wants to find out about how well each can fight, previous training, future plans and you wouldn't want to disobey his orders and ask unnecessary questions. Would you general?" She says cool.

Both I and the General look at her, face slightly agape. If I didn't know any better, I would believe she had just threatened the General.

His face begins to redden, crawling up his skin like a rash, his breaths are short steep and shallow. He's trying to compose himself, maybe there's a law for a high ranking Mogadorian not to attack another high ranking Mogadorian. I'm not sure, but there's only one way to find out.

Her violet eyes almost look a dark blue as she turns to me and asks, "Who do you think is Pittacus Lore?"

I look downwards. I have an urge to say it's me, to claim that I'm the most powerful of the Garde, I can beat Johnny boy in my sleep and I feel alive when I fight. But then I think of the same conviction Four felt when declaring he was Pittacus Lore, positive no one else could possibly even have that claim. And I don't know what to say, and when my mouth begins to form a sentence the General disturbs.

"It is my job to ask the questions."

"I hope you will meet Setrákus Ra's expectations on that matter," she replies, an innocent, calm look on her expression with a hard glint in her eyes.

"That will be all," the General stands up and processes out of the room, announcing "Loric scum" before he leaves.

"Now that was childish," I say, "And that's coming from me."

She purses her lips at me, her expression strange and unreadable. There is no denial she is beautiful, the curve of her lips, the height of her cheekbones, and the fierceness in her eyes. She burns bright in the darkness in the Mogadorian room.

The more I stare at her, I begin to feel incredibly dreary, I yawn and my hands drop dead to my sides, "I think I'm going to take a nap now. Questioning really takes it out of you."

The last thing I see before submerging into darkness is those captivating eyes.

**Let me know what you think! Lots of cookies for those who have followed/favourtied/reviewed. **

**Author's note: I apologise for not updating in so long; I've had to deal with GCSEs – but on the plus side, next week on Monday they're finished!**


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